


Always Something Sings

by lmc291



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe- Boromir Lives, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bechdel Test Pass, Character with PTSD, F/M, Librarian Character, Modern Adult Woman, Modern Girl in Middle Earth, Not a tenth walker, Politics, Slice of Life, Slow Burn, Team Boromir, female frienships, gratuitous librarian stereotypes, here there be yarn crafts, like really slow burn, pre-FotR
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-07
Updated: 2018-10-02
Packaged: 2019-04-19 22:05:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 17,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14246709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lmc291/pseuds/lmc291
Summary: She couldn’t start a fire. What the fuck use was Girl Scout camp if she couldn’t so much as start a single goddamn campfire?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Title from "Alway Something Sings", a choral work arranged by Dan Forrest using words by Ralph Waldo Emerson. 
> 
> Inspiration for this fic: I'm finally taking my own words to heart and writing the thing I want to read. I've put my degrees in history and librarianship to work in researching for this, and at this point, I'm pretty sure I might as well have a second Master's in Medieval Studies. I really wanted to dig deep into and explore what a woman's role and agency actually would look like and how a 21st century person who MAY (perhaps) vaguely resemble myself might adapt to it. (There are enough similarities, but it's not a self-insert.)
> 
> Besides, Tolkien needs more women, anyway.
> 
> Unbeta-ed.
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own Lord of the Rings; don't sue me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Chapter 1 Trigger Warnings** : brief, non-detailed discussion of suicide  
>  **Chapter 1 Squick Notice** : wound acquisition and treatment
> 
> Our story starts off in TA 3010-- Gandalf and Aragorn are searching for Gollum and it's been a year since Arwen has been recalled from Lothlorien back to Rivendell due to increasingly dangerous roads.

Eileen awoke to a mouthful of grass.

She spat it out and eased herself up with a groan. Though the sun held some warmth in it, the air was brisk, and she pulled her wrap closer as she blinked at her surroundings. “Well shit.” She brushed her hair out of her face.

Rising out of a tempestuous river were the ruins of a great stone bridge. Eileen sat in the dirt for a good few minutes, completely dumbfounded. This… this was not Eastern Market. She pulled herself out of her stupor. “Shit. Okay. Right.” First thing’s first. Her purse was still slung across her body, so she removed it and placed it in front of her to examine its contents. Phone-- 53% battery, no signal; wallet; car keys; switchblade; two granola bars and a six ounce bottle of water; a fork; oh, she was looking for that crochet hook; and the secondhand Yeats anthology she had just bought. She ignored the pile of loose change and old receipts. They were useless.

She powered her phone down to conserve the battery and looked up towards the sun. It wasn’t directly overhead, so she couldn’t tell if it was morning or afternoon (her phone had read 3:07am). Or, incidentally, which way was north. Well, she’d figure that out eventually when the sun started to set. 

Eileen scrubbed at her face. She’d have to be careful with her food. Who knew when she’d find her way back to civilization? She looked towards the bridge again. The river flowed beneath it and in the distance, it looked like it might fork into two branches. The more she studied it, the more she could make out additional ruins. Perhaps this was a historic interpretation site? Maybe there was a visitor’s center where she could find help. But she knew the historic sites around Washington, and this didn’t look familiar. Where were the people?

An ominous chill settled deep in her bones, and it had nothing to do with the slight breeze. No, she wanted to put as much distance between herself and that place as she possibly could. There was something off. She was never one to believe that places could have auras, but that place felt like bad news. Rising, she replaced her purse and shifted it so the bag was behind her and thus out of her way. With a final glance at the ancient structure, she turned and walked in the opposite direction. 

She set her course upstream, walking along the river and taking in her surroundings, trying to find something-- anything-- that looked familiar. Her shoes kept sliding off her feet and she cursed her inappropriate wardrobe. Then she scolded herself. How could she have possibly known when she woke that morning she’d be hiking her way back to civilization? Regardless, a maxi-skirt and flats weren’t practical for her current dilemma.

The further Eileen walked, the closer the mountains in the distance creeped and the further the sun sank to her left. Well, she was walking north. At least she knew that much. Nothing looked familiar, though, and she saw neither hide nor hair of another person. She watched the sky for a few moments and finally settled on what felt strange about it: no airplanes. Dulles, Reagan, BWI-- three major airports should have been close by. There should be airplanes or contrails and there weren’t. It was unsettling, and it didn’t portend good things for her survival out here. Her chances weren’t good. Two granola bars and a pint of water weren’t going to last long. 

***

She couldn’t start a fire. What the fuck use was Girl Scout camp if she couldn’t so much as start a single goddamn campfire? She hurled the sticks to the ground in frustration. She was tired; she was cold; she ate one granola bar and was still hungry. She was going to spend the night in the fucking woods with no food, no shelter, and no real way to keep warm. She swiped at her eyes, refusing to break down so soon. She couldn’t afford a panic attack yet.

The sun was low in the sky when she found a decent sized tree to be her temporary shelter, and now it was too dark to see her attempts at making fire.

Bears. Shit. What if there were bears here? Or wolves? Mountain lions? She pulled her wrap closer as she curled into the tree trunk to hunker down for what would probably be an anxiety-ridden night. _Please don’t let me get eaten_.

***

Breakfast on day two saw the end to her second granola bar. She stared at the wrapper before slipping back into her purse and wondered absently if she would find out what it would feel like to starve. 

It felt like it was through divine providence that she found the hazel tree. She wasn’t an outdoorswoman by any stretch of the imagination, but her Pop-Pop had one in the backyard and she had fond memories of home-roasted nuts every autumn. She filled her bag until she almost couldn’t close the zipper. Gotta ration these.

That night, she (finally) successfully made fire and slept warmly, if cautiously.

***

On the fourth day, the sun dawned alongside the telltale heavy feeling of pressure in her lower pelvis. She wanted to cry and had been dreading this moment: her body was responding to the missed birth control doses. If the last time she forgot her pills while visiting her family was anything to go by, her next seven days would be heavy and miserable. And this time, she didn’t have a ready supply of sanitary products to help her.

So with her pocket knife, she tore two strips from the hem of her skirt. The first she immediately rolled and wedged into her underwear as a precaution. The other she kept in her purse. As long as she kept by the river, she could wash and alternate between the two.

She trudged on, humming an old church hymn for comfort.

***

Eileen knew she was going to die out here in this godforsaken wilderness. It was sundown on the sixth day and though she had a small fire going, the air was already much colder than it had been on previous nights. It was autumn in this place. The leaves were changing colors and the past two mornings saw slight frost on the grass. 

She knew she would not survive winter. She had no shelter, no steady supply of food, no way to create firewood beyond what she could forage off the ground. Her clothes were meant for District springtime, not snow.

This knowledge settled heavily around her shoulders and wrapped itself around her much like she wrapped her shawl closer for warmth. But the despondency provided no shield from the wind. Her thoughts turned to the small bundle stashed away, hidden in a pocket of her purse. Carefully wrapped in a smoothed-out tissue was either a wild carrot or hemlock. Girl Scout camp had taught her that both plants looked nearly identical and to not risk eating a wild carrot because of how deadly hemlock was. She was saving it in the hope that death by hemlock was faster and less painful than death by exposure or finding a cliff from which to jump. 

She wasn’t ready yet. But now she had a way out if things became truly hopeless.

***

Something roused her from sleep with a jolt. It was still pitch dark and her fire was nothing more than barely smoldering coals. She blinked to allow her eyes to adjust to the lack of light and her ears strained to identify what it was that woke her. 

Shrieks. There were shrieks in the distance. 

Eileen froze. In eleven whole days she’d neither seen nor heard any evidence of human life, and these were not animal noises. Not even foxes sounded like this. A fearful chill made its way slowly down the back of her neck. She glanced at the trees around her, but none of them had branches low enough to climb up to hide in. 

The shrieks were a little louder-- they were coming closer.

She quietly and quickly moved to action, throwing dirt over the embers to smother any remaining heat. Slinging her purse over her head, she reached down to pick up her shawl from where--

Something slammed into her shoulder. 

She looked down in shock and horror at the ugly black feathers attached to the arrow shaft sticking out of her body.

Then the pain exploded.

***

Elladan swung his sword downwards, hewing the orc at the neck where there was a gap between its armor and helm. Aduial reared, felling another orc with a powerful kick. A nudge with his knee turned the destrier around and Elrohir was once more in his sight. 

The slaughter was over quickly. This was a small band of orcs, and likely the last that would venture out of the Misty Mountains before winter began in earnest. He and his brother would then turn northward back to Rivendell. It was some months since they had last been home. 

The brothers dismounted almost in tandem and worked their way through the fallen to make sure that the corpses were truly dead. When that task was complete, they dragged the bodies to the center of the clearing for disposal. Something caught Elladan’s eye at the edge of the treeline-- a color that did not belong there. He drew his dagger as a precaution and walked slowly towards the patch of white, ignoring Elrohir’s wrinkled nose at being left to pile up orcs on his own. 

It was a shoe. He picked it up. Its craftsmanship was unlike anything he had ever seen, but it was undeniably a lady’s slipper. There was a trace of warmth to it, as if it had only recently fallen off its owner’s foot. “Elrohir!” his voice snapped across the clearing. His brother looked up, brow furrowed at his tone. Elladan lifted the slipper. “There was someone else here. A woman. We cannot remain to burn the bodies.” He knew Elrohir understood the need for haste. 

“On foot, then?” his brother asked. Elladan nodded. “I’ll take the horses,” Elrohir continued. “We both know you’re the better tracker.”

In the end, there was not much need for tracking-- a child could follow the trail of blood, broken branches, and disturbed fallen leaves. “I believe there will be need for your skills in healing, brother,” he murmured. There was a tightness around Elrohir’s mouth, and Elladan knew he was recalling a different day, one five hundred years ago.

They followed the trail through the trees to a small outcropping-- truly nothing more than a large rock. He approached, taking care to make some noise, while Elrohir whispered instructions to the horses to remain where they were. 

“Stay back!” Elladan stopped. The woman’s voice was weak and laced with pain. “I’m warning you! I’m armed!”

Elladan traded a surprised glance with his brother at that declaration. He held out his hands to show he was no threat to her. In the predawn light, he could easily make out her shape, huddled underneath the rock. “Peace, my lady. We mean you no harm. You are safe. The orcs are slain.”

“Th-they’re dead?” her breathing was shaky. 

“Indeed, lady. We saw to it ourselves. I swear: no further harm will come to you-- on our honor and that of our house. You are hurt, and my brother is a skilled healer. Will you let us approach?” he asked gently.

For a moment, the only sounds in the woods were the birds singing their morningsong and her labored breathing. “Y--yeah.” Elladan took it as an affirmative.

She was sitting slumped against the stone, head lolling away from the ugly arrow protruding from her shoulder. A fine sheen of sweat covered her ashen face. Elladan took in her whole appearance as he knelt next to her. Her hair was a shorn, matted mess and her clothes were in muddy, bloody tatters, but there was no mistaking her rank: gold-set amethysts hung from her ears and rings adorned her hands.

He gestured to himself. “I am Elladan, and that is my brother Elrohir, of Rivendell. What is your name?”

She coughed and grimaced at the pain it caused. “Eileen.” An unusual name.

“Lady, where is the rest of your party?”

Her eyelids started to close and he could tell she was struggling to focus. “Just... me.”

“Elladan, do not let her sleep.” Elrohir was laying out his supplies.

Elladan gently removed a curious-looking knife from her slackening grip (he would examine it later) and grasped her clammy palm as a gesture of comfort. “How long have you been alone?”

It took her so long to respond that if he weren’t looking at her, Elladan would have thought she were unconscious. “Two,” she licked her lips, “two weeks. Almost.”

Elladan brushed a damp clump of hair out of her eyes with his free hand. “You are very brave to come so far on your own.”

She made a sound that was almost a laugh. “What else was I supposed to do?”

Elrohir was ready. “My lady, I must cut away at your garments in order to remove the arrow.”

“If,” she closed her eyes at a wave of pain, “if you’re going to undress me, I insist we be on familiar terms.”

Elladan held back a smirk at the hint of humor most unlike any other noblewoman’s he’d come across.

Elrohir continued, “Orcish arrows are often hooked. If I pull it out, it will do more damage. I will cut the shaft here,” he motioned to just below the base of the fletching, “then I must push it out the other side of your shoulder.”

What little color remained in the lady’s face fled it and she clenched Elladan’s hand in fear. 

Elrohir pointed to a waterskin containing what Elladan knew was a Dunedain brew so potent it could strip bark from trees. “I will cleanse the wound to stave off infection, then stitch it closed. Were we in Rivendell, I would add a poultice before wrapping it, but we are three days of hard riding away from there.” He drew a small knife from his kit. “I will begin now.”

Elladan knew his brother moved as carefully as possible, but the arrow still jostled and she gripped his hand even tighter as a groan of pain escaped her lips. “It will be over soon,” he soothed.

Elrohir broke off the arrow shaft as she cut off a strangled scream of pain and maneuvered her forward so she wasn’t leaning on the rock. “On three. One, two,” and on the count of two, he pushed the arrow through her shoulder and out the other side. She slumped forward in a faint, the pain finally too much.

While his brother made quick work of cleansing the wound and stitching it shut, Elladan examined Eileen’s possessions. Her saddlebag was of strange design but the finest craftsmanship he’d ever seen. The leather was soft and supple, and he didn’t think even Arwen could produce such a uniform stitch. There was no clasp he could find, but at the top there was an odd line of interlocking metalwork. He gave a tug on what appeared to be a pull attached to it and the bag opened as if by magic. 

He studied its contents and then lifted an eyebrow in the direction of the unconscious woman. It appeared she knew enough of plant-lore to know which nuts in the wild could be eaten. It was about half-full with acorns and the nuts from a hazel tree. There was a curious mirror-- rectangle-shaped with a metal back bearing strange runes and a reflecting face nearly too dark to discern any features. Rummaging towards the bottom of the bag, he discovered a book written in the same runes as had the looking glass. They were eerily uniform, but also clear proof that she was literate. 

And what was this? He spied inside an interior pocket a small bundle wrapped in fragile cloth. Elladan unwrapped it and all breath suddenly fled him. He turned his gaze once more upon the woman in renewed concern. “Elrohir,” he murmured and his brother paused in his ministrations to see what caught his attention. 

“Hemlock!” Elrohir hissed. “Could she have known the danger she carried?”

Elladan motioned with his hand. “Look how carefully it was wrapped. And she kept it away from the rest of her foraged foodstuffs. I do not believe she intended to survive her ordeal.” His brother turned back to his patient, but not before Elladan saw the small muscle tick in his jaw. Elves could die in battle or fade from grief, but the idea of taking one’s own life was as tragic as it was unconscionable. Neither of them wanted to dwell on what Celebrian might have done if rescue was impossible.

Elrohir exhaled through his nose. “She is safe now. The orcs are dead, and she is safe.” Elladan could not tell if his brother was merely reciting fact or trying to convince himself of it. Elrohir pressed a palm to her forehead and murmured a sleeping spell and then rose with her in his arms. “She will sleep, but we must away. A fever is likely and she will not well survive one on the road.”

They rode, and rode hard, breaking only to give the horses what little respite they required and to swap turns bearing their precious burden. It was midday on the third day when they encountered a pair of Glorfindel’s outriders whom they sent ahead of them to relay word of the addition to their number and her dire condition.

When they thundered into the valley near sundown, Elrond and their sister were there awaiting them, like sentinels.

“My sons, what happened?” the Lord of Imladris asked, gesturing for a stretcher to be brought forth. 

Elrohir swung himself down from his horse and passed the reins to a stable hand before gently removing Eileen from Elladan’s gentle hold to place her on the stretcher. 

Elladan dismounted and his mount was similarly spirited away. “There is much we are still unsure of,” he explained as the procession briskly made its way, following Arwen to the room she had prepared. “She did not remain conscious for long after we discovered her.”

“I removed an orcish arrow from her shoulder,” Elrohir continued, accepting a goblet of water that they sourced from a spring high above the valley. “It wasn't poisoned, but she grew hot with fever in the early morning yesterday.”

When they reached the place, Arwen opened the door and stepped aside to make way for those bearing their guest. “How did she come by such a wound?” she asked, brow furrowed in concern.

Elladan shook his head. “She did not say. Only that she had been unescorted for nearly a fortnight. We did battle a small band of orcs. It's possible she may have been in their grasp, but… I don't…” He shook his head again as he helplessly watched his brother ensure Lady Eileen was comfortably settled in the bed. “It's possible we may have driven them to her.”

She reached out and squeezed his hand in comfort. “She yet lives, and here she can receive the care she needs. All is not lost.”

*****

It might have been Eileen’s own screams that woke her up. She blindly grabbed a pillow and threw it at the shadow in the doorway before she could even wonder why there were pillows and doorways in the first place. She barely noticed the sharp pain the movement caused.

“Peace! My Lady, please be still! You are safe here!” If Eileen had any capacity for poetry, she would have called the voice melodic and sweet as a ringing bell. Her breath came in frantic heaves and an earthenware bowl was placed before her. It was an agonizing several moments before she was able to control the urge to vomit.

A cool wrist touched her forehead. “You are no longer with fever. That is well.” It was a different voice, masculine, and somehow familiar.

Eileen wrapped her arms around herself, one held in a sling, as her eyes adjusted to the candlelight. “Where am I?”

The first voice, the female voice, spoke from beside her. “You are in Rivendell. My brothers brought you here one week ago after finding you in the wilds. You’ve been sick with fever since.” She thought she was hallucinating. Or dead. Only an angel could possess the beauty held by this woman.

She tried to scramble her way to the edge of the bed, but her efforts were met with gentle hands pressing her back to the pillows. “I-- I need to get back-- my family-- I can’t--”

The man’s hand was back on her forehead. “Sleep. Such things will feel less dire in the light of day.” Then he murmured something in a language she didn’t recognize and she fell into a dreamless sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Important for the rest of the story: Eileen comes from a slightly adjacent reality where everything is the same as ours, except Tolkien didn't exist to write LotR.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We're not in Kansas anymore, Toto.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Trigger Warnings:** panic attacks, expressions of grief

Sunlight and gentle birdsong greeted Eileen when she woke next. She remembered the panic she felt the last time, and she still felt it as a muted simmer beneath the confusion of _where did this place even come from?_ She struggled to push herself up to a more seated position, careful not to jostle her sling. What had the pretty woman said? She was found a week ago and had been feverish and unconscious since.

She grimaced at the thought of having to deal with atrophied muscles.

She observed the room. It was light and airy and a fire crackled merrily in the hearth. There was a large unglazed window to her right with curtains so sheer she could see a courtyard and garden beyond it. At the far wall, there was a wooden screen that partially obscured a closed door. Her bed was soft and piled with warm woolen blankets.

Wherever she was, she didn’t seem to be a prisoner. Or, if she was, she was being treated well for the moment.

The door to the room opened quietly and cautiously, as if the person on the other side expected her to still be asleep. “Oh!” the woman from last night (was it last night?) exclaimed softly when she saw Eileen was awake. She had a tray balanced against her hip. “We weren't expecting you to awaken so soon. How do you feel?”

Eileen considered her body. “Sore,” she settled on, “and weak.”

The woman nodded. “That is to be expected.” She set the tray down on a side table and sat in the empty chair near the bed and smiled. “We could not be properly introduced when you were awake last. I am Arwen.”

Eileen extended her hand out of instinct. “I'm Eileen. It's very nice to meet you.”

A flicker of confusion flashed across Arwen’s face, and Eileen suddenly regretted her apparent faux pas with a pang of embarrassment. Before she could lower her hand, Arwen tentatively took it, but it was a grip different from a handshake. After a brief moment of hesitation, Eileen repositioned their joined hands and squeezed gently, shaking once before letting go.

“Is this a traditional greeting for you?” Arwen asked.

Eileen fiddled absently with the edge of the coverlet. “For strangers yes. For close friends and family, it may be a hug or a kiss on the cheek. I guess it’s different here?”

“When we meet strangers, or have very formal greetings, we place our hands thus,” Arwen explained, placing her hand over her heart, leaning in slightly, and Eileen likened it in her mind to the proper posture for the Pledge of Allegiance. “Among ladies, close friends hold both hands. Anything more intimate is reserved for family. But the, Imladris is different from other places.”

As she straightened back up, Arwen brushed her long-flowing hair behind her ear, and Eileen blinked, confused. Her ear was pointed. Eileen felt her brain skip like a scratched-up cd. She had pointy ears. _Don’t say anything. Don’t ask. Just go with it. I could be a birth defect. Don’t embarrass her. Or you. Don’t embarrass yourself._

Changing the topic, Arwen asked, “I’m sure a bath would be welcome, yes?”

All thoughts of weird ears disappeared at the thought of being able to wash. Eileen moaned. “That would be fantastic!”

“We have hot springs and communal baths,” Arwen explained. “But I suspect such a walk would be too taxing for you at the moment. I will summon a bath for you here.”

“Thank you.” Eileen was grateful. She hadn’t been truly clean since D.C. and, based on how itchy her scalp was, her hair must be a greasy mess.

Arwen gestured to the tray. “I was hopeful you’d awaken and so brought food. Shall we eat while we wait for the water to be brought up?”

The still-warm broth smelled heavenly-- like Nana’s chicken soup-- and Eileen’s stomach rumbled audibly. She giggled in embarrassment and that giggle turned into a snort that set her off into full-throated laugher. Even Arwen, who seemed to be very restrained and proper giggled along with her.

While the water for the bath was being summoned, Eileen gingerly sipped the broth provided for her. It was the best meal she could ever remember having. It wasn’t surprising-- meals after being hungry for so long often tasted good, but even though it was just broth, it was rich and warm, and comforting.

Women began entering the room carrying buckets of steaming water through to the door behind the screen and filled the freestanding tub that was now visible. They were directed by a willowy blonde woman with an ageless face that appeared friendly even though her mouth was set in a no-nonsense line. Eileen presumed she was in charge.

“Míriel, good,” Arwen set her own glass down. She addressed Eileen, “Lady Eileen, Míriel has been assigned to assist you here.”

Eileen was glad to see a sparkle appear in Míriel’s eyes at the introduction, and hoped it meant she had a kind personality as well as being professional in managing her staff. She smiled and nodded in greeting to the other woman. “Thank you so much for all your help!” Looking down at her sling she added somewhat deprecatingly, “I don’t think I’ll be managing as well as I usually do.”

Míriel smiled. “You will heal fast. Imladris has that way. I will be helping you dress and such-- nothing you will be unfamiliar with, I think.”

 _So she’s a… lady’s maid? Did I fall into Downton Abbey?_ Eileen nodded again, deciding it was better to pretend she knew what was going on than display her ignorance. These people seemed nice, but would they stay that way if they started thinking she wasn’t of the class they assumed?

“Shall we get you into that bath?” Míriel asked.

“Oh, yes please!” Eileen hadn’t stopped thinking about a bath since Arwen brought it up.

Both Míriel and Arwen had to help her out of her shift and into the tub, and Eileen felt her modesty start to kick in. Her nakedness didn’t phase the other women so it must be more common here to bathe in front of people. Then Eileen remembered that Arwen said people typically used public baths and their ease made sense. She tried not to feel self-conscious in front of two of the most beautiful women she thought she’d ever seen.

With their help, she slid into the warm scented water and felt all the tension drain out of her muscles. Sensing that she needed some soaking time for herself, Míriel pointed out the bar of soap that was for her body and the jar of cream to lather in her hair before she and Arwen adjourned to the bedroom to talk quietly amongst themselves.

***

Recovery was _hard_.

Having had mono in college, Eileen knew how long it could take to recover energy after an illness, but nothing had ever prepared her for being wounded, for being struck by an arrow like a deer being hunted for dinner. Though her legs returned quickly, a walk to the gardens left her tired and hanging onto Arwen or whichever brother accompanied her as escort for support.

She met the brothers formally very early during her recovery. Her care was Elrohir’s charge, so she saw him frequently. His skill as a doctor--healer-- was completely foreign, but her wound was healing and she was regaining her energy so she did not complain.

Though she did not see much of Elrohir outside of medical reasons, Elladan would sometimes sit with her and tell stories of his family and of some of the adventures he and his brother undertook in the past. She read a few poems aloud when he asked about the book that somehow made it from D.C. with her.

She was itching for occupation, but her sling got in her way, and the exercises Elrohir set for her left her with constant aches. As Lady of the house, Arwen had other obligations and could not always be with her, and Eileen didn’t yet know any other people well enough to spend time with. She sat for a while one afternoon with an older woman named Gilraen, who was kind, even if her attention sometimes drifted-- she had worry lines around her eyes, and to Eileen she appeared as if she had the weight of the world on her shoulders. Eileen didn’t want to add to her troubles by begging for company.

Eileen was frustrated. She could only read her copy of Yeats so many times and asked if she could borrow a book from Arwen. She fought back tears of aggravation when she opened it to discover the language on the page was completely alien. Not even the beauty of the manuscript could distract her from the fact that she was effectively illiterate.

She continued to avoid thinking about how far she was, literally and metaphorically, from home.

***

Today was different.

Eileen wasn’t yet accustomed to people entering her room while she slept, so she still woke up when Míriel came to check the fire and open the curtains for the day.

“Come, come. Up you get, my lady,” she sang. “I would like to see if these alterations fit.”

Blinking the sleep out of her eyes, Eileen could see that this gown was far finer than any they had yet provided her. These gifts made her uncomfortable, but she wouldn’t voice her reservations to Míriel when the woman was just doing as she was bid. She pulled herself out of bed and stumbled her way over to the wash basin to splash water on her face, still not completely through her coffee withdrawal. God, she missed coffee.

Míriel helped her out of her sleep shift and into the gown, mindful of her sling and bandages. Elrohir took the stitches out yesterday, but he said the wound still needed covering for protection.

“Oh, it’s beautiful!” Eileen gasped. And it was-- a light peach creation with delicate silver embroidery and seed pearls sewn along the neckline. She brushed it with care, trying to stare down her nose to study the craftsmanship.

“This is really more for evening,” Míriel mused, brushing her fingers down Eileen’s bare arms, “but we still do not want to jostle that shoulder too much.” Eileen twisted, trying to get a look at the back of the dress, wishing for a mirror, while Míriel pinched at some loose fabric near her bust. As Eileen caught sight of the train that draped gracefully from the tops of her shoulders, Míriel hummed, “I still need to take this in a bit.”

Míriel was still prodding and pinning when other women came in carrying buckets of hot water. Eileen recognized them, but eyed them with mild suspicion even as she smiled in greeting. She had not had a private bath since the first, choosing instead to use the communal baths to try and acclimate herself to the customs here, modesty be damned.

When Míriel was satisfied with the fitting, she helped Eileen out of the gown without a single pinprick. “Go wash,” she shooed Eileen, naked, to the tub behind the open door. “Do not let the water get cold before you can use it. But don’t wash your hair!” she advised.

Arwen breezed into the room as Eileen, finished with her bath and clad in just her shift, was brushing the knots out of her hair. “Míriel, does the dress fit?”

Míriel tied off the last bit of thread. “The alterations are finished, my lady.”

“Very good.” Arwen held out a headband for inspection. “I thought this would suit.” Míriel looked at it nodded decisively.

Eileen blinked at the jewelry, for that’s what the headband was. The silverwork as fine as anything she’d ever seen, and it reminded her of art nouveau. It was much too special for her to wear, and she could feel the situation rapidly spiraling out of her understanding. She spoke up. “This all seems… very formal.” She let the question remain unasked.

Arwen set the headband down on the table. “My father, with Elrohir’s assent, has deemed you well enough for a formal introduction and wishes to ask you some questions.”

She swallowed her nerves down. “I assume he wants to see me soon?”

A look of guilt flashed across Arwen’s face. “I wanted to spare you some worry by waiting to inform you. I hope that was not wrong of me.”

Eileen pinched the bridge of her nose. How could she possibly prepare herself for this? “No, I would have been stressing over it.” _It’s fine. You’ve winged final presentations before. Job interviews, even. The stakes for this can’t be all that much higher <\i>_

Arwen and Míriel helped her back into the dress and Míriel began to set her hair, placing the headband in the middle of her forehead and pinning it in place. Twisting her hair to hide where the band was secured, Míriel tsked, “What they did to your hair is such a shame. It would be so beautiful long!”

Eileen didn’t have the heart to tell her that cutting it to her chin was her own stylistic choice. Her hair was too thick to be worn long during the brutal D.C. summers.

When she was finished, Míriel stood back and beamed. “There! You look like a proper lady again! What a good feeling, yes?”

Given the lack of mirrors in her room, Eileen chose to trust them. She accepted her shawl from Arwen with a grateful smile. The other woman must have sensed she wanted something familiar, even if the gray merino didn’t quite go with the gown. She draped it around her shoulders, and Míriel squeezed her hand. “All will be well. You’ll see.”

Eileen used the walk to gather what she already knew about the people she was with, given the short notice she had for this interview. Arwen and her brothers… they had status here. It was obvious in the subtle deference the other women she encountered paid. And they addressed her as “Lady Eileen”. They took their cues from her jewelry she arrived with and presumably her soft hands. She certainly didn’t disabuse them of their assumption. If she had status, she had maneuvering room. Probably.

And as they took cues from from her, she took her own from them. It should have been impossible, but she didn’t think she was trapped in some sort of high fantasy roleplay cult. Her surroundings were too detailed, the marvel expressed at her bra was too genuine. Nothing could explain one moment on a sidewalk in Northeast and the next waking up in the grass amidst ruins. No coma could possibly be this vivid.

They came to a door, and Eileen gathered her confidence into a tight ball in her chest. You can do this.

“Ada?” Arwen called. “I come with Lady Eileen.”

“Enter.”

Arwen gave her an encouraging smile before pushing the door open. When they were in the room and the door shut behind them, Arwen introduced her. “Father, I present to you Lady Eileen of--”

“Of Washington,” Eileen supplied, filling in the gap.

“-- of Washington, well healed from her trials. My lady, this is my father, Elrond, Master here at the Last Homely House and Lord of Imladris, known in the realms of Men as Rivendell.”

As Elrond (Lord Elrond?) rose from behind his desk, Eileen studied his impossibly ageless face, trying to take his measure. How would he receive her? “Lady Eileen,” his voice was deep, lyric, and soothing. “My heart sings with gladness to see you hale. Welcome to Imladris.”

Here we go. Eileen dropped to her best approximation of a curtsy, grateful for skirts that were wide enough to hide most mistakes in form, and hoped that whatever the dress couldn’t hide could be excused by her recent illness. She almost missed the the approval that flashed across his eyes. “Lord Elrond, thank you for your generous hospitality. I-- I don’t think I could possibly repay your kindness.”

Lord Elrond made no mention of any repayment needed and gestured to a low-backed chair next to the desk and near the fire in the hearth. “Sit. I am sure you still tire easily.”

Well, he wasn’t wrong. Eileen settled in the chair, neatly arranging her dress and drew her shawl closer about her shoulders, mindful of her sling. Arwen took her own seat a short distance away near her brothers, at whom Eileen nodded in greeting.

“First,” Elrond began, hands resting on the arms of his chair, “How are you faring?”

Eileen smiled. “I’m happy to be walking on my own again, but you’re right. I do still get tired quickly.”

“And the wound?”

She resisted reaching up to brush the bandages. “It still aches, but I suppose it’ll do that for awhile yet. The stitches were removed yesterday, which I’m sure Elrohir has already told you. I’m glad…” she swallowed, “It could have been much worse and I’m glad it wasn’t.”

Eileen could see the brothers shift slightly in their seats as if they knew what Elrond’s next question would be. “There’s no delicate way to ask this,” the lord of Imladris paused to take a fortifying breath, and Eileen knew then what he was going to ask.

She cut in to relieve him. “I wasn’t held by those creatures and was alone from the moment I woke up.” The brief, palpable tension fled the room.

“And perhaps that is a good place to start,” Elrond said, refocusing the conversation. “Can you tell us anything about what happened before you woke up by yourself? Where were you traveling?”

Eileen shrugged, feeling more helpless than she cared to admit. “That’s just it. I wasn’t traveling. It was a Saturday, and I saw a friend for lunch. I stopped at the bookstore on the way home. Then the next thing I knew, I woke up next to some river.”

A furrow appeared between Elrond’s brows. “Nothing else? Perhaps suspicious individuals nearby? Or a blow to the head?”

They think I was kidnapped? That was an unlikely scenario. She knew she was probably missing time between blinking out into the sunlight in D.C. and waking up… well, wherever the hell it was, but nothing suggested interdimensional kidnapping. “No, nothing like that.”

Elrond shifted bits of parchment on his desk. “What do you recall about where you woke up?”

Eileen fidgeted in her seat. “I woke up next to a river on the right bank… the east bank. I suppose it was near midday. There was a bridge. Or, there used to be a bridge. It was mostly ruins. It… felt bad. Maybe not evil, but heavy-- like something sad happened long ago and the land still remembered. I walked in the other direction because I didn’t want to be near it.”

“Tharbad,” Elrohir murmured to Elladan.

Elrond pulled a map to the forefront. “And you said you found her…?”

Elladan got up to point at a location on the map a ways to the north of where Tharbad was marked. “Here, or nearabouts.”

As Eileen studied the map from where she was seated, an icy frisson of fear clawed at her throat. The men were still speaking, speculating on how far she could have possibly walked on a given day, but she could barely hear them. It was as if someone pressed a glass to her ears and she was listening through that obstruction. Her fingers started tingling and her breath came in short, shallow bursts. The room was closing in around her.

She lurched to her feet, startling the group. “Outside… I need-- where?” Full sentences weren’t something she could manage at the moment. She was out in Elrond’s private garden almost as soon as the entrance was pointed out. She gulped in the fresh air, trying to regulate her breathing, and grasped the balustrade in a white-knuckled grip. “Breathe,” she told herself. “You can do it. Just breathe. Oh God.” This couldn’t be happening. This absolutely couldn’t be happening. Any moment she’d wake up and it would just have been a bad, booze-induced dream. Or something.

“Eileen?” It was Elladan. “Were you back in the forest?” He stood near her, but outside her personal space-- close enough to offer comfort or assistance, but not so close as to crowd her.

“That’s not my map.” The words tumbled from her lips in a rush.

“Not your--”

She pointed sharply behind her. “I don’t know what that is, but it’s. not. my. map.” She punctuated each word with a jab of her finger.

Elladan’s brow furrowed in confusion. “I don’t understand. Have you never seen an elvish crafted map before?”

Eileen pressed her hand to her lips, exhaling heavily through her nose. She could feel her heart try to hammer its way out of her chest and wondered if Elladan could hear it. “Where I come from doesn’t look like that.” She knew she sounded crazy. This whole thing was crazy. She started pacing.

A curious look came over Elladan’s face. “Have you ever seen an Elf before?”

“I-- what?” The question pulled her up short.

“Before encountering Elrohir and I, have you ever seen or heard of Elves?”

Eileen blinked at him. “Elves don’t exist. Not outside of children’s stories.”

“You did not notice some of the more, ah, visual differences between you and I?” Eileen knew he was talking about his ears.

“I did, but…” she trailed off.

“And you did not think to ask?” He questioned.

“Of course not!” She would never. “That would be rude, and my mother raised me not to be rude.”

“So you would have been content to never ask?”

Arwen walked out to the garden and saved Eileen from answering. “Here, I sent for this,” she handed Eileen a goblet of warm mulled wine. “For your nerves.”

Eileen accepted it with thanks and inhaled the comforting aroma of spices before taking a sip.

“Are you feeling any better?” Arwen asked.

Eileen shook her head. “No, I’m not.”

Arwen looked like she wanted to put a comforting arm around her but was holding herself back. “You can do this tomorrow. There is nothing that cannot wait until you are ready.”

She shook her head again. “I want to finish this. I won’t be able to rest until we figure out what’s going on. I don’t like not knowing.”

Arwen gave her an understanding nod. “Are you ready to go back inside?”

Eileen took another fortifying sip of the wine. “Lead on, Macduff.” At Arwen’s confused glance, Eileen tapped the glass, sheepish. “It’s, um, from a play-- a misquotation, actually, that’s entered the vernacular. Where I’m from, I guess.”

With a deep breath, Eileen followed Arwen and Elladan back into their father’s study. She set her glass down on a table and Elrond approached her, taking her hand into both of his own.

“I apologize for causing you such distress. I should have taken care to ease you into troubling news.” The apology, in it’s simple ownership of the wrong, stunned Eileen. She was so used to apologies that shifted the blame to the offended party.

She considered it for a moment before squeezing his hands in acceptance. “You couldn’t have known. I hope that together we can get to the bottom of this.”

Elrond nodded and led her back to her seat. “You recognized none of the landmarks on the map?”

He could hear that? She should really ask Arwen at some point about the differences between Elves and...and humans. She shook her head. “It looks like nothing I’ve ever seen, and geography was part of my education.”

“Your father had your tutored like your brothers, then?” Elrond asked, leaning forward in interest.

“I have no brothers,” Eileen answered. “My sister and I were educated according to the standards of our country. Girls and boys both usually begin formal schooling at the age of five,” she elaborated. “Education covers reading, writing, uh, sums, history, geography, very basic sciences, and some schools also teach foreign languages.” She chose not to try and explain computers.

Elrond looked intrigued. “Fascinating. And how long does this system take to be completed?”

“The most basic phase takes nine years, with the earliest years teaching very rudimentary skills. After those nine years are four more years of more advanced learning. My country has decided that these thirteen years count as a basic education,” Eileen explained. “Most, but not all, continue on and undertake four more years of specialized education in order to find employment outside of service work. A small number, especially but not exclusively those who wish to study laws or medicine, continue to seek very advanced education beyond this and they are considered elite and their skills worth the expense of their combined years of training.”

“Where do you fall on this spectrum?” Arwen asked.

Eileen could feel herself blushing. “Uh, the final category.” She didn’t like bragging about herself outside of job interviews. “I obtained higher training as a librarian with a specialty in working in archives, and for the past four years I’ve worked as a librarian in the Executive Office of the President.”

“What is a president?” Elladan asked.

There were whole courses dedicated to this topic, and Eileen was not in the mood to go into any sort of depth on the matter. “My country doesn’t have a king. A very brief explanation is that our leader is styled ‘president’, and he is chosen by the people every four years and the longest he can serve is two consecutive terms.”

“That seems rather inefficient,” Elrohir commented.

Eileen nodded. “It can be, depending on the views each person has regarding domestic and foreign policy. There can sometimes be dramatic reversals of previous policy. That’s what our current president has tended to do. Officially I have no opinions on the matter,” she said, hoping to shift to another topic. It wasn’t to be.

“And unofficially?” Elrohir asked.

“Unofficially?” Eileen inhaled. “Unofficially, he’s vulgar, a cheat, and he treats women in the vilest ways imaginable. He’s openly bragged about assaulting women with impunity.”

Gasps of outrage echoed around the room. “Your father let you near such a man?” Elrond asked, aghast.

“I have never been in his presence. There are many people in the hierarchy between us. I took the position when another man was president, but his final term ended about a year and a half ago. I am not a political appointee so I get to keep my job regardless of whether the president changes.” Eileen shrugged. “This is a prestigious posting. His term will be over soon and all I have to do is outlast it.”

Elrond muttered an angry oath under his breath that Eileen couldn't make out but caused Arwen to scold him. “Father!”

He schooled his features and declared, “We will speak no more of this particular subject today. But I am curious: I would like to see the differences between a map of your land and this one.”

Eileen nodded. “I'll do my best, but you should know that I'm not much of an artist. I wouldn't want to waste the paper.” She knew paper would have been expensive for them to produce.

Elrond set a slate tablet and a stick of chalk before her instead. “This will do for now.”

Eileen studied the tools for a moment, wishing she had the use of both hands. That would make this project a bit less sloppy than she knew it would turn out. She picked up the chalk and hovered over the tablet, trying to decide which would be the easiest corner to begin with. She started in the upper left corner, with Washington, and drew a line as straight as she could manage to mark the northern boundaries before dipping down to make the glove of Michigan and sweeping up to curve around Maine. She shrugged off the disproportionate protrusions of Florida, Louisiana and Texas before filling in the major geological landmarks: the Rockies and Sierra Nevada in the west, the Mississippi and Missouri Rivers, the mountains of Appalachia, the Hudson River. A wave of sadness rushed over her as she marked D.C., New York, and the approximate location of the small town in New Jersey where she grew up. Would she ever see these places again? Would she see her family again?

She slid the slate to the center of the desk and sat back while the rest of the group gathered around to study it.

“Such an unusual shape,” Arwen commented, intrigued, hand hovering above the curve of the Gulf States. “Is it surrounded on all sides by water?”

“Um, no.” Eileen picked the chalk up again to draw lines representing parts of Canada and Mexico. “Another country runs the entire length of our northern border, and one along part of the southern. But the rest is water.” It truly sounded like they didn’t recognize America. How could that possibly be?

“Are these three the only cities?” Elladan asked. “It seems like such a large land to be so.”

Eileen pointed to the dot representing D.C. “This is where I live now-- the capital city. And this is where I grew up. It’s more of a, uh, village than a city.” She pointed to New York. “This is the nearest large city. There are more cities. Here, here,” she continued, marking Philadelphia, Boston, Miami, Chicago, Dallas, Los Angeles, and Seattle. “And many, many others.”

“How far is it between these two?” Elrond asked, pointing to D.C. and her hometown.

She lifted her usable shoulder in a shrug. “Um, two hundred miles maybe?”

“So vast!” Arwen exclaimed. A peculiar look came over her face. “How hard it must be for you to be so far from your family.”

“We correspond regularly.” Eileen didn’t feel like trying to explain telephones. “I have a lengthy visit around, um, midwinter for a holiday, and then we all usually go out to the country or to the ocean for a week in the summer to get away from the heat...” She trailed off as a feeling of foreboding came over her. “Can… can I go home?” She needed to ask, needed to know.

The silence in the room was as deafening as it was telling. Elrond bought his map back to the forefront. “This map covers our entire world.” His tone was not unkind. “There appear to be no similarities. I have heard of no other case such as yours.”

Eileen could feel her lower lip begin to tremble. No. She wouldn't start crying here. She took a shaky breath and stood. The men rose with her. “I-- I can't do this anymore. If you would please excuse me.” She turned and strode from the room.

Arwen caught up to her in the hallway. “Eileen…” The sadness in her eyes was profound as she reached out to take Eileen's hand.

Eileen jerked away. “I can't. Arwen, I know you're trying to be comforting. Really-- I do, and I appreciate it, but if you touch me right now, I will shatter into a million pieces and I can't do that in this hallway. I won't.”

Arwen bit her lip and nodded. “Know that I am here for you.”

Eileen summoned a week smile. “I do. You have been nothing but kind to me, but I need to process this first.”

As soon as Eileen shut her bedroom door behind her, a choked sob escaped her lips. Knees weak, she slid down to the floor and wept.

***

Elrond did not speak again until Arwen returned. “Eileen shall be a ward of this house and under my protection,” he proclaimed. It was his right as lord, according to the customs, particularly of Men and sometimes of Elfkind, to assume guardianship of unwed noblewomen without male relatives. Securing her future would be his responsibility. “Arwen, see to it how you will, but ensure she has a proper education for her status. She will need it “

Arwen nodded slowly.

“Father, you cannot possibly mean to marry her off so soon!” Elladan exclaimed, assuming the purpose of providing such an education. Elrond shot him a look while his twin stepped on his foot in warning.

“Our time on these shores is waning,” Elrond reminded him sharply. “She is young, but to not prepare her is to serve her ill. What will become of her when we are gone?”

Elladan’s expression remained mulish.

“Eileen would not consider herself young,” Arwen commented. “And among Men, twenty-seven is an unusual age to remain unwed. However, I think--”

Elrohir, who had contented himself to remain quiet, interrupted. “But that is not so old for the Men of Numenor.”

“Numenor?”

“You can’t have been so blind to her look, brother,” Elrohir scoffed. “It might appear diluted, but that blood is no less present in her. You yourself have seen women of the Dunedain birth healthy babes into their fiftieth year and later.”

“She is distraught,” Arwen pressed. “Yes, we should prepare her, but all talk of marriage and-- and babies and such should cease until she is ready.”

“Do you think so uncharitably of me, daughter?” Elrond accused.

“She must have a voice even if she isn't present to speak for herself.” Arwen was firm. This is not what she wanted. She did not want to fight with her family.

“And you choose this? To be her advocate?” her father asked.

“We are not so different, she and I.” Arwen twisted her fingers in her lap. “When my hour comes, I would hope to have the same support,” she pleaded quietly.

The mood in the room plummeted. Elrond closed his eyes in pain and Elrohir abruptly left.

Elladan sighed. “That was unkind. Arwen, we're on the same side in this. Please don't use the little time we have left together to win an argument.”

“That's not what I'm doing!” she insisted, upset that her family would think she would resort to such callous manipulation to try and sway them. “She's grieving. To speak of marriage prospects will make her feel as if we no longer wish her to stay, as if she were a burden. That I see myself in her current situation only makes me care more that she feel welcome. And she is clearly used to making her own decisions. We should consult her.”

“Her ways are foreign. Better she learn here, where we are more tolerant of such behavior, that opinionated women are not often thought well of.” There was a tone of finality in Elrond’s voice. Arwen’s shoulders dropped and she nodded, accepting the veiled reprimand for what it was. “This discussion is finished.”

The two siblings adjourned quietly to the hallway and walked without a destination in mind.

“I will tell her of father’s--”

“We should do something--”

They spoke at the same time, and Elladan gestured for Arwen to continue her thought.

“I will tell Eileen of father’s plans. Better to come from another woman and a sympathetic ear, I think.” Arwen loved her father. Truly, she did. But for all his millennia (and perhaps because of them), his ways were rigid and once set, little could budge them. He was wise, and his authority as lord was absolute-- it wasn’t his duty to overly concern himself with feelings. That was the way of things. She could better explain the custom to Eileen in a way that conveyed the benefit to her and in a way that wouldn’t harm their burgeoning friendship.

Elladan nodded. “Good. We should do something to try and ease her grief. We cannot remove it, but I would see her smile.”

They walked in silence, then Arwen sighed. “I should find Elrohir and apologize.” She turned to her brother. “You know I would never use my betrothal to win an argument, yes?”

Elladan tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow. “I do. I should not have said that you might. It was cruel and I was not taking my own words to heart. This is equally hard on all of us. You will grieve us as we will grieve you.”

“But not yet.”

“No,” Elladan agreed. “Not yet.”

***

Eileen had at some point managed to drag herself to her bed, not caring to undo the work Míriel did with her hair. Though exhausted from her emotional trauma, she slept fitfully. Each new worry chased the heel of the last. Would anyone find her dog, still home in her apartment? Did she just vanish off the street? Did her parents know she was missing yet? Did they think think she was still alive? Dead? Just the thought of her mother's grief sent her into a new round of tears. They would never know what happened to her.

What would happen to her here? Would Lord Elrond allow her to stay? How could she even make a living here? What skills did she have that were useful?

She was never going to see her family again. She’d never again hear their voices. Oh, God, what if she forgot their voices? Her sister would get married and have children and she'd never know. Her parents would grow old and she wouldn't be able to support them. They would never know if she got married and had kids of her own. How could she possibly manage without the love and support of her family?

Eileen decided eventually that her sleep would be nothing more than a useless nap. She rinsed her face, still red and puffy from crying, in her room’s small wash basin and rummaged through her purse for her phone. She hadn't turned it on since waking up in the grass.

She took a deep breath to steel herself to face the world outside and left her room, resolved to find Arwen. Eileen found her in a large room with a grand hearth speaking to an unknown...lady Elf. I should ask someone to teach me some vocabulary. As she approached the pair, the woman said something in a language Eileen didn’t know before bending at the shoulders in a deep nod to both of them and excusing herself.

Arwen looked like she was about to speak, but Eileen interrupted her. “I have a favor to ask. A huge, massive favor.”

“Please, I will see what I can do,” Arwen answered.

“I need a recommendation for a painter,” she begged. “Someone who can do portraits, or...or miniatures, and who can work quickly. And also suggestions for how I might pay this person.”

Arwen blinked, as if the request was not something she was expecting. “What for?”

Eileen lifted her phone up. “This has a picture of my family in it. It won’t work for much longer… an hour or two, maybe? And if it’s true I’ll never see them again, I can’t let myself forget.” She was getting emotional again and she swallowed back the tears that were once again threatening. “I won’t let them be lost to me without trying to preserve their memory.”

Arwen was nodding decisively before Eileen had even finished her entreaty. She took Eileen by the hand and pulled her back down the hall. “Come, I know just whom to ask.”

They were in the family wing, beyond the guest wing where Eileen was staying. Arwen still held Eileen’s hand, and she found that she didn’t mind it. She decided it brought a small measure of comfort. They came to a stop outside a door and Arwen knocked.

Elladan answered. “Arwen, Eileen. This is a surprise-- is there a problem?” His eyes darted to Arwen like he wanted to ask her something but not in front of Eileen.

“Not a problem, no,” Arwen shook her head. “Eileen would like a small portrait done of her family, and it seems like she will imminently lose access to the one she has now.” She turned to Eileen. “Elladan has some talent with paints and he only needs to look at something once, perhaps twice, to recall fine detail.”

He has a photographic memory! Eileen threw her arms around Arwen. “Oh thank you! Thank you so much!” Tears fell anew as she stepped back and turned to hug Elladan who seemed surprised at her actions before gently wrapping his arms around her. She sniffed and swiped at her eyes as she extricated herself from the embrace.

Smiling, Elladan suggested, “There is some time before the evening meal. We could work on the sketches now, if you’re feeling well enough for it.”

“I don’t want to impose if you had something else planned for your time.” The last thing Eileen wanted was to be a burden.

Elladan waved her concerns away. “It is no trouble. I was only going to read. Please,” he gestured for them to enter the room.

As the door shut behind the three of them, Eileen felt for the first time a feeling of grounding.

She’d still be able to remember her family.

She could find her way here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this chapter is about 7,000 words and twice the length of the last one, and now that we have more characters than our heroine, there will be much more dialogue as the story progresses. I anticipate around 7,000 words per chapter will be my happy place. Eileen and I diverge here a bit: I don't work in Fed-land, but I did see an IRL posting for her job, which is how I learned it existed. 
> 
> I see a lot of OCs/self-inserts where the character has a very plot-convenient backstory of either dead family or estranged family, and depending on how it's done, it feels like it's purposely avoiding the trauma of losing literally everything. Eileen is going to be dealing with this for a realistic period of time.
> 
> Also, I started a blog so I can talk about all the fascinating things I come across in my research: https://historicallyaccuratefic.wordpress.com/


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A feast with a side of self-consciousness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I live! Explanations at the end.
> 
> **Trigger Warnings:** Sucky realities of the patriarchy.
> 
> Obviously, I didn't write the _Ainulindalë_.

“My parents met at a party.” Elladan was sketching the image from the glowing screen with a thin piece of charcoal as Eileen gazed lovingly at her family. “Dad was best friends with Mom’s cousin.” She laughed. “I can’t believe they hadn’t met before then. Mom says they started talking and the next thing she knew, hours had gone by.”

“It was a love match, then?” Arwen asked from the chaise, a girlish smile on her face.

Eileen’s fingers twitched, like she wanted to caress the screen. “They love each other so much. Thirty-five years later and they love each other as much as they did when they first married.” She pointed at the photograph. “This was at my grandparents’ sixtieth wedding anniversary a few years ago-- Mom’s parents.”

“You all look so happy!” Arwen had somehow become softer in those last few hours. Eileen had only ever seen her in her hostess role, but she was slowly revealing a personality that delighted in romance and other such cheerful things.

“This was the last time we were all together,” Eileen sighed wistfully. “I went back to school, and my grandmother died a few weeks after.”

Elladan looked up and caught her eyes, offering comfort through his expression. Eileen smiled in gratitude back at him. “Her health was failing. She didn’t suffer very long, at least.”

“Tell me what it was like-- growing up with a sister,” Arwen urged, redirecting the conversation from the sudden undercurrent of sadness. “It can’t have been as trying as two brothers!”

Eileen laughed as Elladan scrunched his nose in Arwen’s direction.

“We aren’t-- weren’t,” she corrected herself, “as close as I’d like. Carrie… she’s not the best with correspondence.” Eileen thought back to unanswered texts and infrequent phone calls. “We see each other a few times a year, and the rest is usually up to her. She’s busy and forgets.” Eileen tried not to think about the hurt feelings that arose from Carrie’s apparent disinterest in family. Maybe it was Eileen’s fault for not trying harder when they were younger-- but there was a wide enough age difference that Eileen hadn’t want to include her as children and she was away at college when Carrie was in high school.

It was too late to fix now.

“She was seeing someone,” Eileen remembered. “It wasn’t anything serious yet, but it was the first person she’d told me of in a few years.” It could have been because Carrie was too busy to date, or it could have been because this was the first person to make it past the first date. She would never know.

“It’s not custom to be open about courtship?” Arwen asked.

“It depends on the person,” Eileen acknowledged. “I have friends who kept things secret for a while-- not because we would disapprove, but because they wanted a period of privacy. I’m more open with my family.” She considered why. “It’s partially because I’m really close with my parents, but I guess it’s also a safety thing so they’re aware that I’m meeting someone new.”

Her attention jerked towards Elladan, who twitched as the phone screen abruptly fade to black. Eileen felt her heart break in two. That was it.

Elladan scratched at his neck, sheepish at his reaction. “I was not expecting that.” Catching sight of Eileen’s stricken expression, he rushed to console her. “Despair not-- I have seen what I need to. You will not forget their likeness on my account.”

Eileen sniffed, determined not to cry. “Thank you.”

The sound of a low bell tolled in the distance and Elladan set the charcoal down. Though Eileen took private meals during her recovery, she recognized it as the bell that signalled that mealtime was approaching-- its purpose to allow for time to wash the grime of the day away and change. A second bell would toll within the half-hour to announce the start of dinner.

Arwen straightened from her position of repose on the chaise. “Come. Let’s get your hair back into some semblance of order.”

With a mortified jolt, Eileen realized a good portion of Elrond’s household probably saw the nap-induced rat’s nest that was her hair. She reached her hand up to brush at it, as if that would do any good. The look she shot Arwen must have expressed her dismay, because the other woman sent her an amused look before turning to Elladan.

“A brush, please?” she asked her brother.

He rummaged for a moment in an adjoining room before returning with a brush. Handing it to Arwen, he said, “I will return just before the second bell.” He left the room.

“May I?” Arwen asked, referring to Eileen’s hair.

“Oh.” Eileen had gradually gotten used to having someone else help her dress and look presentable in the mornings, but Arwen was the closest this place had to a princess (so it seemed) and for someone of that rank to adopt a handmaid’s role felt wrong.

Arwen did not wait for a response and began untwisting the strands of hair keeping the diadem in place. Her hands were gentle as she brushed Eileen’s hair back into neatness. She drew a shaky breath and seemed to gather her courage. “I think… I know that someday soon I will be walking the path you are on.” Something in her tone of voice led Eileen to believe she would confide something significant-- something she had shared with very few people, if any at all.

Eileen shifted to look at her, the question in her eyes unspoken.

The older woman twisted one of Eileen’s curls back into place as she gathered her words. “My family-- we’re different. Half-Elven, we are called. My foremother, Lúthien, fell in love with a mortal Man. Many trials they faced, and when Beren fell so grieved was she that Mandos himself returned him to her and granted to her the Gift of Man, so that when their lives were spent, she could remain with him after death.”

Arwen’s gaze drifted away unfocused, and Eileen could tell that there was more to the story. There was an aching sadness in her words and in the memories they bore. She wouldn’t push, though. Arwen would tell her in time if it was something she wished to share. “This gift-- this choice-- is only granted to those of her line: to retain the longevity of the Elves and return one day to the blessed shores of Aman, or to forsake immortality to one day die and pass to the Halls of Mandos.” Arwen’s eyes glistened with tears as she met Eileen’s. “I fell in love.”

In an instant, Eileen understood. “Oh, Arwen.” She wrapped her arms around her in a gentle hug that Arwen returned with a fierceness that should have been belied by her slight frame. Oh, Eileen couldn’t even imagine making that choice. She was separated from her family by a freak twist of fate. It was not something she ever consented to. Given her own choice, Eileen would have happily stayed in D.C. Arwen eventually pulled away to swipe at her eyes, and Eileen reached over to hold her hands. “He must be very special.”

Sniffing delicately, Arwen squeezed back. “We met, and I felt a stirring deep within my soul. There is no other fate for me.”

The implications of things left unsaid were clear to Eileen: someday, Arwen would never see her family again. “I don’t know what my future is,” Eileen began, “but I promise you I will always be your friend.” She blushed when Arwen pressed a kiss to her forehead in response.

Arwen picked up the brush again and resumed her task of setting Eileen’s hair to rights. “I know this is your first dinner in the hall, so you should know that Ada will likely say a few words about you.”

Eileen nodded. “That makes sense.”

Pinning the diadem back into place, Arwen continued, “He may announce this tonight, or he may think it too soon, but he has decided to offer you the protection of our House.”

Her brow furrowed. “What does that mean for me?” Eileen asked.

Arwen put the brush down. “It’s an adoption. Do not worry,” she rushed to continue, correctly reading the look on Eileen’s face. “You will not have to renounce your family. Things here are… different from what you are used to. I’m told it’s difficult among Men-- more difficult than among Elfkind-- to be a woman unattached and without male relatives.”

“You mean this will secure a future for me. A future meaning marriage.” Eileen had always been quick on the uptake. Marriage was the only future for her here.

“Yes.” To her credit, Arwen had never lied to Eileen. She appreciated that.

Marriage. It would probably be an arranged marriage to someone far from here. Eileen had listened between the lines of Arwen’s story-- unions between Men and Elves weren’t just not done, they were Not Done. At least, Eileen told herself, she could take comfort in the fact no marriage would happen soon. There was a lot she still needed to learn. Literacy, for one, was her top goal. She figured most people couldn’t read here, but she refused to be one of them. She also recognized the need to learn how to manage a household. It probably wasn’t much different from running a team, but it was something she needed to learn how to do.

“You need to learn things first,” Arwen continued as if reading her mind. “You’ve been educated better than most men, but women of rank have their own educations that are expected of them. And given your rank, the requisite negotiations will take time, but that is time you have.”

“Time?” Eileen was confused. “You mean I’m not approaching spinster age yet?” she asked, half-jokingly.

Before Arwen could answer a knock sounded from the door. “Come in!” Arwen called out.

Elladan entered his room. “Ready?”

“We are.” Arwen rose and Eileen followed suit, smoothing out her dress.

Eileen looked down at the bandages on her shoulder. “Could… do I have time to remove these?”

“Are you sure?”

“Not particularly,” she answered Arwen, knowing that removing the bandages would mean displaying her scar to all and sundry. “But I’m getting tired of it, and I’ll have to do it at some point. Might as well be now, I guess.”

Arwen helped her undo the knots in the fabric and Eileen unwound it from her shoulder, slipping the bindings out from under the dress. She barely suppressed a grimace at the ugly scar tissue, raised and still an angry red.

“Don’t think too hard on it,” Arwen soothed.

“You’ll be too busy to think about it with me as your dinner partner,” Elladan changed the subject. “I’m far too entertaining.”

“Only because of the silly things you spout off,” Arwen snarked at him with a wink in Eileen’s direction. “Shall we? I wouldn’t do for us to be late tonight.”

“Oh, however will we survive?”

Eileen jabbed Elladan in the arm with her finger. “You’re being ridiculous.”

“Slander!”

Eileen and Arwen shared a look.

Arwen hustled them out the door. “We really will be late now.”

They walked together down the corridor for a few moments before Arwen excused herself to walk faster. “I need to ensure things are as they should be.” They waved her along and continued their way at their own pace.

Eileen let Elladan tuck her hand into the crook of his arm, content to defer to him in these matters of decorum. As they walked down the corridor, Elladan explained, “You will be sitting at the high table with us. Adar sits in the center. Arwen is at his left as Lady of Rivendell and official hostess.” Eileen presumed Arwen was filling in her mother’s role, but since there was no mention (never any mention, which was deafening in its silence) of Elrond’s wife, she made no comment. “You will be sitting at his right as the guest of honor for the evening,” he continued. “I will be on your other side and can make introductions as the need comes up.”

Elladan led them to a small anteroom that Eileen had never seen before. “The high table enters separately from everyone else,” he explained.

It made sense, she thought, as she looked across the room at the assemblage. She saw Lord Elrond speaking with Gilraen, and Elrohir was over in the corner speaking in low tones with a blond elf-- Glorfindel, came Elladan’s whisper in her ear.

“And Arwen is speaking with Erestor.” He pointed out the elf talking to the only other familiar face she saw.

A signal was given and Elrond and Arwen headed the line, while Elladan maneuvered them into position behind his family. Elrohir and Gilraen took their places third with the rest of the party falling into place behind them. They entered the hall and Eileen tried not to feel uncomfortable with the number of eyes suddenly on them-- on her.

The room was incredible, and she tried not to stare. It was hard-- trying to keep one foot in front of the other while taking in architecture that was somehow both gothic and art nouveau at the same time. It was bright and airy, with arches and swirls, and candles that somehow managed not to flicker out from the open-aired view of the valley outside. Elladan’s expert guidance kept her from tripping on the flagstone.

She reached her seat, just off center on the dais, and a chair was pulled out for her. She stepped around it, but a minute gesture from Elrond kept her standing.

Silence descended as those gathered realized their lord intended to speak. “As you well know,” Elrond’s voice carried to the the far corners of the room, “we have had a guest in Imladris these last few weeks who has sought healing from great turmoil. Hear this now: Lady Eileen has been adopted into my household and will henceforth be considered a daughter of the House of Elrond.” He turned to her and raised his glass. “Welcome.”

Applause rang out across the room.

It occurred to her that she was probably supposed to say something, and she used the time it took to pick up her own glass to compose in her head something suitable. The chatter died down again. “Thank you, Lord Elrond, for your generosity and your kindness. Your hospitality has been a great comfort to me during my illness, and your welcome is received with joy in my heart.” Was that too over-the-top? Too ren-faire? It felt way too schmaltzy for her, but as she glanced from Elrond to the rest of the room, she was relieved to see it seemed well accepted.

She turned back to Elrond and raised her glass. “Thank you.” Eileen read the approval in his smile-- maybe he thought she could be salvaged as wife material for some foreign nobleman.

(It would be a long time before _that_ thought got easier.)

With the toast dispensed with, Elrond took his seat and the rest of the hall followed suit.

Elladan leaned into her space to start explaining the meal. “We will have four courses tonight…”

***

She was anxious-- Elladan could tell. Eileen had been fine during the early portion of the meal, projecting a graceful and demure countenance from her place of honor seated at Elrond’s right hand. Her actions were a half second slower than everyone else’s, and he could tell by how her eyes subtly darted around the high table that she was adjusting her already fine manners to her environment. But sometime between the fish and the duck she seemed to fold into herself. She became fidgety.

He watched as she reached for her glass time and again to press it to her lips, though a surreptitious glance told him she drank nothing but the smallest sips. She twisted the napkin in her lap and pulled absentmindedly at a loose thread.

Thinking to soothe her, he leaned over and gently covered her hand with his. “Are you well?” he murmured. He could feel the pulse in her wrist jump.

Eileen very carefully showed no outward reaction to where his hand was placed. “Everyone’s staring.”

Elladan looked over the hall again. She wasn’t entirely incorrect. More than a few sets of curious eyes wandered over to her place at the table. “You won’t be a stranger for much longer. The novelty will soon wane.”

She shook her head infinitesimally. “I should not have taken the bandages off.”

Ah. Her wound. He thought she had been exceedingly brave, wearing the half-healed scar openly as a badge of honor. Such ugliness, for indeed it was, was a distant memory for most of Elrond’s folk. The wars of the Second Age were long finished and few now, by comparison, partook in raids against the scourge of orcs and goblins from the Misty Mountains.

He felt as she resumed her task of twisting her napkin to death despite his hand still covering hers. This wouldn’t do. He knew she had talked herself into attending dinner with the scar uncovered-- she said as much herself-- choosing to rip the splinter out quickly, so to speak.

Before he could say anything to soothe her worries, Elrond stood once more.

“We shall adjourn to the Hall of Fire,” he announced. Turning to Eileen, he commented in a tone of voice meant for her, “You shall enjoy this, I think.”

They all rose, and Elladan again tucked Eileen’s hand around his arm to lead her. As they reached a small alcove in the connecting corridor, he stopped them there and stepped aside so that others could pass them. He ignored the curious looks cast in their direction and focused on her. This was something he wanted to tell her at the table, had his father not interrupted. “It does not make you any less than anyone else here in this room. You are no warrior. Your life has been and should be one of comfort, yet you did what was necessary to ensure your survival. You should wear your trials with pride and show the world your bravery.”

Eileen crossed her arms, defensively hunching into herself. “Elladan, you don’t understand. I’m...I’m…,” her eyes darted around like a half-spooked horse, “I’m defective!” He opened his mouth to protest but she ploughed on. “I’m not a child so don’t treat me like one. I know marriage comes next for me, and I’m damaged goods with no proof beyond my own word that I wasn’t raped in captivity. My word is nothing,” she hissed. “People talk.”

The brutal reminder of things Elladan already knew cut deep. How long had he been alive? He knew that Men and Elfkind valued virtue for differing reasons. For Elves, the act of intimacy bound two souls together in blessed eternity. Men, he knew, were crass and transactional, and cared only for the unquestioned furtherance of the paternal line. Having such a wound would remarked upon. Eileen’s virtue, especially if she found herself in Gondor, would be called into question.

He rapidly considered and rejected potential responses before settling on something lighthearted. “You don’t trust my skills as a matchmaker?”

Her reaction was the one he was attempting to elicit. A soft smile bloomed on her face and a quiet laugh escaped her lips. The look she gave him suggested she knew very well what he was about. Elladan realized then that he would do anything for her. He would lie and more if needed to secure her the future she deserved.

Dropping a wink, he offered her his arm. “Come, an evening in the Hall of Fire is a treat that should not be missed.” They entered, and he watched as her eyes widened at the resplendence. That no hall could stand as its equal was his not unbiased opinion. Minas Tirith was cold, Edoras primitive. (He would never let Galadriel think he didn’t esteem her hall as much as the one he was raised in.) He found them seats near the rest of his family and they settled down in the warm comfort of the centuries of songs and stories that echoed in the stone.

Without any sort of prompt, a great hush settled over the room, and all eyes turned to the western side.

A drum set the beat-- slow and steady like a pulse. Primordial, almost. In the flickering firelight, she saw five ellyn rise and begin to hum in low, round notes. A harp plucked a chord and then the notes floated on like a leaf on the wind. Two flutes added their harmonies, and a single voice separated itself from the choir.

“Eä Eru i estaina ná Ilúvatar Ardassë,  
ar ónes minyavë Ainur i ner i híni sanweryo,  
ar ner yo së nó ilúvë né ontaina.”

Eileen leaned into his shoulder to whisper into his ear. “What language is that? It doesn’t sound like anything I’ve heard here.”

“It is Quenya-- a more ancient language than even my own cradle-tongue. Listen. This is the story of our creation.” Under his breath, he translated the Ainulindalë for her:

_There was Eru, the One, who in Arda is called Ilúvatar;_   
_and he made first the Ainur, the Holy Ones, that were the offspring of his thought,_   
_and they were with him before aught else was made._

_And he spoke to them, propounding to them themes of music;_   
_and they sang before him, and he was glad._   
_But for a long while they sang only each alone,_   
_or but few together, while the rest hearkened;_   
_for each comprehended only that part of the mind of Ilúvatar from which he came,_   
_and in the understanding of their brethren they grew but slowly._

_Yet ever as they listened_   
_they came to deeper understanding,_   
_and increased in unison and harmony._

_And it came to pass that Ilúvatar called together all the Ainur_   
_and declared to them a mighty theme,_   
_unfolding to them things greater and more wonderful than he had yet revealed;_   
_and the glory of its beginning and the splendour of its end amazed the Ainur,_   
_so that they bowed before Ilúvatar and were silent._

All sound stopped for a beat or two before progressing.

_Then Ilúvatar said to them:_   
_'Of the theme that I have declared to you,_   
_I will now that ye make in harmony together a Great Music._   
_And since I have kindled you with the Flame Imperishable,_   
_ye shall show forth your powers in adorning this theme,_   
_each with his own thoughts and devices,_   
_if he will._   
_But I win sit and hearken,_   
_and be glad that through you great beauty has been wakened into song.'_

_Then the voices of the Ainur,_   
_like unto harps and lutes, and pipes and trumpets,_   
_and viols and organs,_   
_and like unto countless choirs singing with words,_   
_began to fashion the theme of Ilúvatar to a great music;_   
_and a sound arose of endless interchanging melodies_   
_woven in harmony_   
_that passed beyond hearing into the depths and into the heights,_   
_and the places of the dwelling of Ilúvatar_   
_were filled to overflowing,_   
_and the music and the echo of the music went out into the Void,_   
_and it was not void._

_Never since have the Ainur made any music like to this music,_   
_though a greater still shall be made before Ilúvatar_   
_by the choirs of the Ainur_   
_and the Children of Ilúvatar after the end of days._

“Oh, Elladan,” she gasped, breathless at the splendor of the harmonies risen to crescendo, “oh, it’s beautiful.” Her eyes shone, moved almost to tears at the complexity, and he saw that the little hairs on her arms stood on end.

He continued to translate, unwilling to let her miss the rest of the story.

_Then the themes of Ilúvatar shall be played aright,_   
_and take Being in the moment of their utterance,_   
_for all shall then understand fully his intent in their part,_   
_and each shall know the comprehension of each,_   
_and Ilúvatar shall give to their thoughts the secret fire, being well pleased._

_But now Ilúvatar sat and hearkened,_   
_and for a great while it seemed good to him,_   
_for in the music there were no flaws._

_But as the theme progressed,_   
_it came into the heart of Melkor_   
_to interweave matters of his own imagining_   
_that were not in accord with the theme of Ilúvatar,_   
_for he sought therein to increase the power_   
_and glory of the part assigned to himself._

_To Melkor among the Ainur had been given_   
_the greatest gifts of power and knowledge,_   
_and he had a share in all the gifts of his brethren._   
_He had gone often alone into the void places_   
_seeking the Imperishable Flame;_   
_for desire grew hot within him to bring into Being things of his own,_   
_and it seemed to him that Ilúvatar took no thought for the Void,_   
_and he was impatient of its emptiness._

_Yet he found not the Fire, for it is with Ilúvatar._  
 _But being alone he had begun_  
 _to conceive thoughts of his own unlike those of his brethren_.

_Some of these thoughts he now wove into his music,_   
_and straightway discord arose about him,_   
_and many that sang nigh him grew despondent,_   
_and their thought was disturbed and their music faltered;_   
_but some began to attune their music to his_   
_rather than to the thought which they had at first._

_Then the discord of Melkor spread ever wider,_   
_and the melodies which had been heard before_   
_foundered in a sea of turbulent sound._   
_But Ilúvatar sat and hearkened_   
_until it seemed that about his throne there was a raging storm,_   
_as of dark waters that made war one upon another in an endless_   
_Unnassuageable wrath._

_Then Ilúvatar arose,_   
_and the Ainur perceived that he smiled;_   
_and he lifted up his left hand,_   
_and a new theme began amid the storm,_   
_like and yet unlike to the former theme,_   
_and it gathered power and had new beauty._

_But the discord of Melkor rose in uproar and contended with it,_   
_and again there was a war of sound more violent than before,_   
_until many of the Ainur were dismayed and sang no longer,_   
_and Melkor had the mastery._

_Then again Ilúvatar arose,_   
_and the Ainur perceived that his countenance was stern;_   
_and he lifted up his right hand,_   
_and behold!_   
_a third theme grew amid the confusion,_   
_and it was unlike the others._

_For it seemed at first soft and sweet,_   
_a mere rippling of gentle sounds in delicate melodies;_   
_but it could not be quenched,_   
_and it took to itself power and profundity._   
_And it seemed at last that there were two musics_   
_progressing at one time before the seat of Ilúvatar,_   
_and they were utterly at variance._

_The one was deep and wide and beautiful,_   
_but slow and blended with an immeasurable sorrow,_   
_from which its beauty chiefly came._   
_The other had now achieved a unity of its own;_   
_but it was loud, and vain, and endlessly repeated;_   
_and it had little harmony, but rather a clamorous unison_   
_as of many trumpets braying upon a few notes._

_And it essayed to drown the other music_   
_by the violence of its voice,_   
_but it seemed that its most triumphant notes_   
_were taken by the other and woven into its own solemn pattern._

_In the midst of this strife,_   
_whereat the halls of Ilúvatar shook_   
_and a tremor ran out into the silences yet unmoved,_   
_Ilúvatar arose a third time,_   
_and his face was terrible to behold._

_Then he raised up both his hands,_   
_and in one chord, deeper than the Abyss,_   
_higher than the Firmament,_   
_piercing as the light of the eye of Ilúvatar,_   
_the Music ceased._

_Then Ilúvatar spoke, and he said:_   
_'Mighty are the Ainur,_   
_and mightiest among them is Melkor;_   
_but that he may know, and all the Ainur,_   
_that I am Ilúvatar._

_Those things that ye have sung,_   
_I will show them forth,_   
_that ye may see what ye have done._

_And thou, Melkor, shalt see that no theme may be played_   
_that hath not its uttermost source in me,_   
_nor can any alter the music in my despite._   
_For he that attempteth this shall prove but mine instrument_   
_in the devising of things more wonderful,_   
_which he himself hath not imagined.'_

_Then the Ainur were afraid,_   
_and they did not yet comprehend the words that were said to them;_   
_and Melkor was filled with shame, of which came secret anger._   
_But Ilúvatar arose in splendour,_   
_and he went forth from the fair regions that he had made for the Ainur;_   
_and the Ainur followed him._

The song continued, and Eileen sat at rapt attention. It ebbed and flowed, and rose and fell. She could feel in her bones the creation of the world, felt the magic of the melody tying all in the room to each other and to the energy of the land.

It was real.

It was so spectacularly real.

The song ended and flowed easily into another, and then another. The musicians and vocalists transitioned between each other with an ease that Eileen had never before witnessed. Infrequently, someone would be nudged and urged by their friends or family to take a turn.

And so it went for hours, until Eileen felt her eyelids start to droop. _Five minutes_ , she promised herself as she leaned her head to rest against Elladan’s shoulder...

***

Eileen bolted up in bed with a scream stuck in her throat. She hunched over her knees gasping for breath, the haunting memory of inhuman shrieks echoing in her ears. It took her a minute to remember where she was and how she got there. She had fallen asleep on Elladan’s shoulder, the night finally getting to her. He woke her up just enough to get her back to Míriel who hustled her out of her clothes and into the warm comfort of her bed.

No one rushed into the room, so thankfully she had managed to keep quiet. Waking the household up in the middle of the night with a nightmare was embarrassing and she hoped that first time would be the only time. She didn’t want to be seen as a scared child who couldn’t sleep through the night.

It was dark still. She hauled herself out of bed and to the window where she opened the curtains. It would still be a while before dawn, but there was a suggestion of light at the edge of the sky and everything was calm-- much calmer than she felt inside.

She was too keyed up to go back to sleep, so she slipped a dressing gown on over her shift and creeped quietly out her door into the hallway. The way was clear, and she ran into no other soul on the way to her destination.

Eileen had only been to the kitchens once before-- during her initial tour of the Last Homely House. They were warm and cheery and somewhat familiar (in purpose, if not in exact practice), which was exactly what she needed.

She hovered in the doorway, part of her hoping that someone would notice her before she had to go out of her way to announce herself. Was there even a proper protocol for something like this? It wasn’t quite bustling yet-- there were only two cooks so far, and she knew it would take more than that to feed the household.

Finally, the tall one noticed her. He blinked in surprise at her and tilted his head. “May I help you, my lady?”

Fidgeting with the sleeve of her dressing gown, Eileen cleared her throat quietly. “Can… I was wondering if I could bake some bread of my own.” It all came out in a rush. Why was she so timid? Why did her nightmares always wreak havoc on her personality?

The ellyn eyed her suspiciously.

Eileen grew uncomfortable under the scrutiny and wrapped her arms around herself. “I’m sorry-- I shouldn’t have bothered you. I’ll leave.”

The one who seemed to be in charge appeared to be deliberating internally with himself. Before she could put herself out of her own embarrassed misery, he responded, “I am Túrwaithon. The starter is over there,” he nodded to a shelf towards the back. “Find me when you need the ovens.”

That… that was less resistance than she was expecting. Actually, she was expecting to be sent back to her room. Maybe he expected her to find herself out of her depth-- a rich girl playing at being domestic-- and leave of her own volition. Well, she’d soon prove him wrong.

The bags of flour were already out, so she didn’t have to look for those. She cast a self-conscious glance at Túrwaithon before rolling up her sleeves and scooping a heaping portion onto the work surface in front of her. She looked at it with a critical eye before scooping some more flour. Satisfied, she turned her attention to the shelves where the starter had been pointed out. She couldn’t read the script on the yellowed labels, but a clever guess and a quick whiff of the pungent odor kept her on the right track. A few more clever guesses later and she had honey, eggs, and a pinch of precious salt.

She knew this recipe-- her best friend's mother's-- well enough by this point that she didn't need to check her measurements exactly, but she had only ever used instant yeast, and it would be interesting to see what would happen.

Fold and push away. Fold and push away. Fold and push away.

Maybe she was being too aggressive with the kneading, but she needed a way to work out the adrenaline-fueled excess energy she could still feel seeping from her pores. She ignored the ache of her overworked shoulder.

Túrwaithon was suddenly at her shoulder. “Such an interesting recipe. Honey and eggs?”

“It’s my friend’s mother’s. Challah-- it’s traditional.” She thought about it. “Though I think some recipes leave out the honey. I like it though.”

“Fascinating.”

“I braid it after it rises.” With one final turn of the dough, she dusted it with flour and set it gently in a cloth-covered basket and placed another cloth on top to block the light. Eileen ignored Túrwaithon watching her as she glanced about the kitchen for the right spot. She found it-- not so close to the ovens to start cooking the dough, but just close enough that the little bit of extra heat could help jumpstart the yeast and the rising process. She didn’t want to have to wait until tomorrow for the next steps.

“Here,” Túrwaithon said. “Watch what I do.”

Eileen watched as he made what looked to be a simple sourdough.

“I trust you haven’t baked on this scale before,” he commented, muscles flexing as he kneaded the dough expertly.

“I haven’t,” she agreed.

“Himdirith needed to step out for a moment, and I require another pair of hands.” Eileen heard the challenge in his voice. She rolled out her shoulders, feeling the bones crack and her scar pull, but she paid it no mind because this was how she worked through her anxieties.

They had a good production line going, kneading loaves of dough and setting it aside to rise. Occasionally, Eileen would go peak at her challah, surprised at the strength of Elvish yeast, even if it still wasn’t quite ready yet.

She barely noticed Himdirith returning while she was kneading her fifth sourdough loaf. She _did_ notice Arwen come in the kitchen behind him. Eileen quickly looked up at her, feeling bizarrely guilty at being caught, and resentment over clearly being ratted out.

Arwen cast a concerned glance at Eileen’s state of undress. “What are you doing here?”

Eileen looked down at her flour-covered hands and shrugged. “I couldn’t sleep.”

“Come,” Arwen wrapped an arm around Eileen’s shoulders and gently guided her around the work bench. “Let’s get cleaned up.”

“But the bread--”

Arwen paid no mind to her protests. “They can take care of it.” She nodded her thanks to the kitchen staff.

It was still early, and the halls were quiet as they walked them. “I embarrassed you, didn’t I?” Eileen hated how meek her voice sounded. She was never going to fit in.

“You should have properly dressed,” Arwen allowed, but not unkindly. “This is highly… irregular.”

“You mean improper.” Eileen pulled away to lean her back against the wall and scrubbed at her face. “I don’t know how I can do this.”

“You can do this,” Arwen insisted. “Day by day, one foot in front of the other. You will not be rid of me soon. I will be with you each step of the way.”

“I just… I miss my home. I miss my family, my friends. I miss knowing what’s socially acceptable,” Eileen confessed with a frustrated tinge to her voice. “I miss not having to care about it in my own home.” She tamped down the urge to stomp her foot. “I can’t read. I can’t write. I have nothing to occupy my time. I feel like a child and I don’t like it.”

Arwen studied her for a few moments, but looking for what-- Eileen wasn’t sure. “You are not one to be eased into new situations, are you?”

“I’m really not.”

“Very well.” Arwen nodded decisively. “Our way forward is simple, then. We'll get you ready for the day, and then you will learn at my side. If that's not enough to engage your mind we shall find something additional that will. I imagine you'll be quite busy once I find our old reading primers.”

Finally, there was a plan. Eileen liked plans. She could get behind a plan-- they gave her purpose and satisfied her need for organization and order in her life.

“Come now,” Arwen urged her away from the wall. “You look like you hardly slept. A soak in the hot spring will do you well.”

“I got a few hours,” Eileen shrugged as they continued their way down the corridor. It might have been three or four. The evening's entertainment in the Hall of Fire went into the night before she made it back to her room, and it was still mostly dark when she woke up from her nightmare. Not having a precise way to tell time was hard.

“Is this the first time you've had trouble sleeping?”

Eileen thought about lying. If she had trouble sleeping, that was her own problem. She should be able to take care of herself by herself. There wasn't anything Arwen could really do to help.

The look on Arwen’s face stopped that line of thought.

“No,” Eileen conceded somewhat unwillingly.

“You should talk to Elrohir,” she suggested.

Eileen pursed her lips. “I barely know him.” Elrohir was far more distant than his twin. While he was an excellent caregiver and very obviously skilled in the ways of healing (as evidenced by Eileen's survival), he hadn't been particularly friendly. That sort of demeanor might make for a good doctor, but it didn't much encourage her to dissect her fears with him. The trust just wasn't there.

If Arwen was offended she didn't completely trust her brother, she didn't show it. “Well, if you change your mind, he has some experience dealing with nightmares. At the very least he can provide you a tea to soothe your dreams.

“I’ll think about it.” She didn’t want anything that could cause dependence, even if something plant-based was probably healthier than a pharmaceutical that could cause dependence.

Arwen appeared to accept her answer.

They took some time to gather their things, and then Eileen followed Arwen to the hot springs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh man, guys. First I went on vacation, and then work was AWFUL (god, what a long story), and then I was interviewing for new jobs, and then I GOT a new job, and then I started said new job. It's been a wild 4 months and honestly it feels like it's been 84 years. So here's an update.
> 
> (Also, I know she's a librarian who hasn't done much library stuff. I promise it's coming. I have big plans.)
> 
> Finally, I have Feelings about Arwen/Aragorn as a pairing in general, and it's mainly how CLEARLY jrrt didn't understand women AT ALL and how there's no earthly way in any semblance of reality that she would have ended up with him. 1) There's the squick factor that her dad raised him. 2) The age difference. 3) I personally would not have given the guy I dated at 21 a chance now even if he had matured because I knew him when he was 21 and clueless. 4) "You're the most beautiful woman I've ever seen we belong together" hard pass. 5) I don't think she would have given up the chance of seeing Celebrian again. But Tolkien did his whole early 20th century high fantasy thing and we have to deal with it. I'm going to do some personal retconning to make it work, basically.
> 
> Always use sleep aids responsibly.


End file.
